Dumbass
-
Monday, May 23, 2011
Thumbs McGee Voted; have you?
Well, unfortunately, Thumbs McGee from yesterday’s Sunday Suite did find a use for his thumb: mashing the “VOTE” button for this week’s DoucheBag O’ The Week.
If this simian simpleton can manage it, so can you.
Keep mashing that vote button, Thumbs; as long as you’re doing that you can’t apply rotation to the sugar plum(s).
Because allowing such a douche/hott coupling would be the equivalent of Osama Bin Laden pushing a warm corn dog into the butt of Lady Justice.
Not on our watch.
Not with our corn dog.
Sunday, May 22, 2011The Ballad of Hal E. Tosis and Jenny Talia
Hal’s poor eye wear choice makes him look like the demented love child of Jimmy Fallon and a bleached KarmaKaze pilot.
Jenny’s poor choice in hook-ups make her look like Mariah I-Don’t-Carey – complete with twins. For her, I would gratefully write out palimony checks while extolling the virtues of vitamin E for her lovely creamy and supple epidermis as I gazed zen-like into her uncaring gum-smacking visage, like a doomed cockroach crooning to the uncaring anthropomorphic face of a vintage 30’s wooden Emerson radio.
Damn, a splash of single-barrel Kentucky bourbon and a teenie-tiny Ambien pill chewed slowly with malice like it was the fiery nipple of Mother Anger, and these after-hours soliloquies just write themselves.
Wait…After Hours…but…it’s the weekend…Ummm….carry on.
Sunday, May 22, 2011Thumbs McGee
Ayyyy! What has one thumb, and is ruling the Corn-Fed Convention tonight?
Dis guy!!!
Poor Man’s Kate Hudson in the center is, of course, sporting the correct hand sign for this situation…
As the Temp In Charge, I welcome any and all suggestions for the use of his thumb.
Together we can make a difference.
Thursday, May 19, 2011U.S. Olympic Synchronized Nodding Team
Oh, dear Reader, I’d love to tell you that the tri-choad neck tilt you witness was an image caught microseconds after their skull plates were simultaneously flogged by a 48 pound, 12 ounce baby dolphin calf carcass obtained from my blackened gulf.
But no. There is no necrotic marine mammal slap o’ Justice to be had here today.
These choads are crimping their C4 thru C7 neck discs in a reptilian display meant to land their empty heads on a primo spot on Grecian Gretta’s voluptuous dirrty pillows. But they are wrong, my friends. I have personally gazed into her eyes and her moonpie grin beckons for the RC Cola I keep in my pants.
That’s right, you Philistines; I can SEE her giving me the Olympic Greek Eye O’ Coitus beckoning me to Mount-A-Limp-Puss, and I suspect her phalanx yearns to be rammed by the Trireme of Love.
And then I woke up. Smelling of hay and stable. After having peed in a Trojan Horse.
Just in case you sped-read through the above gibberish, allow me to cut to the heart of the matter here: Boobies.
Thursday, May 19, 2011Out Caste – A Study in Societal Stratification: by Crucial Aloysius Head
The great philosopher Confuse-us once opined that the Douchebag Society has, since ancient times, adhered like donkey jizz to a complex hierarchy of tribal communities commonly referred to as an “Out Caste” system.
This system contains many levels of Scrote which have been detailed in full throughout the Holy Scriptures.
In this case, we see a devout member of the Out Caste system, Franklin Stein suffering the humiliation of letting his Bindi slide from Bra!man status (typically located between the eyebrows – directly in line with the mark of the bag), to the lowly Fungtouchable state (Bindi between the eyes – facial fung multiplying at an alarming rate).
Now that partially medicated Mary and ashamed Shelly have seen the folly of Franklin’s ways, mayhaps they’ll feel more at ease by joining me for a moment of Tantric respite on my yoga mat whilst I ply them with real comic book legends like Captain Haddock, Professor Calculus and Tintin.
Monday, May 16, 2011MR. WHITE’S HCwDB SING-ALONG EDITION: DOUCHEY IN THE STRAW
HCwDB reg Mr. White offers the following soundtrack for Country Molestern and his Reversed Cowgirls:
Oh I went down to the bar
But I didn’t make it far;
‘Fore I spied me a grinnin’
douchey hittin’ on the wimmin!
So I hit ‘im in the face
with a large metallic mace,
Then I made my move to court
a girl in tiny, tiny shorts.
Douchey in the straw, douchey in a hat
Hit ‘im in the stomach with a heavy baseball bat
Lookin’ at some ladies that you’d surely like to paw
Whlle you’re listenin’ to a tune called Douchey in the Straw!
Monday, May 16, 2011Scarf Face
The S.S.B. (Stolen Sister’s Blouse) that Scarf Face is sporting is in and of itself sufficient cause to be flogged about the head and neck with a flail made of a mop handle with a half dozen dead lampreys stapled to the jagged broken head.
But that…scarf…the so-called keffiyeh worn by that most insufferable of all bags:
The HipsterBag.
Allie, Keisha…can you not smell the sopped rancid neck-cheese encrusted within this tragically cool trend-squatter’s woolen folds? I implore you both to empty your lagers into his woven commode seat of a keffiyeh, saunter into the furthest empty bedroom, away from the pseudo-intellectual arguments between young men tragically attempting to grow wispy bears, clad in high-water pants and girl’s blouses; yes, creep away from the tinny strains of the new “Starry Saints” vinyl being played ironically on an old plastic child’s phonograph; avoid the maze of old “Spin” magazines and soy latte stains that landscape the carpet; slip beneath the sheets, unwashed since Mom’s exasperated cleaning visit last Thanksgiving, and just do what comes naturally. Which is, of course, to start a mattress fire and ease quietly out onto the fire exit.
I beg this of them. What would YOU have them do, fellow Bag Hunters?
Thursday, April 21, 2011Johnny McJohn’s Scarf Fail
But on the plus side, if this New York cookiewank ever decides to go scarf bungee jumping, this might happen.
Coy Elena, her of the downtown poetry readings and cute studio apartment, deserves better. I would buy her tasty rounds of soup dumplings at the downtown Joe’s Shanghai, then provide over an hour of awkward and limited conversation about my analyst before she quickly called a cab and I headed over to The Sugo Bar next to Supper to drown my sorrows in some single malt.
Monday, April 4, 2011The Knicklehead
Reminding us that, in spite of being one of the great cities of urban living, New York also has the douchiest sports fans this side of Miami Beach, The Knicklebag wants to drop by.
And be a douche.
In presence of soothing smoothie blended drink of hott lickery, the lovely Lindsey.
And all is wrong on a Monday morn.
And lest you think the Knicklehead was just goofing it up in a one-off pic, this unholy basketballwipe took his show on the road. With Lindsey on vacation in the tropics.
The great Bernard King just had himself retroactively baptized as a Celtic.
Thursday, March 31, 2011Cries and Whispers and Joey Poo
It was Swedish auteur Ingmar Bergman who explored the use of a distinct cinematic language of stylized existentialism to paint themes of the psychological crisis of meaning.
It was Joey who left the seat up in the bathroom at Koi.
